


Heaven Sent (you to me)

by IMaketheMonsters



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, F/F, F/M, M/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:15:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28491498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IMaketheMonsters/pseuds/IMaketheMonsters
Summary: Carrie Wilson throws one hell of a party.OR: The New Year's Eve!AU that no one asked for
Relationships: Alex Mercer/Willie (Julie and The Phantoms), Flynn/Carrie Wilson, Julie Molina/Luke Patterson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 309





	Heaven Sent (you to me)

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea to write this last night at 9PM, paused briefly to play Wake Up exactly 53 seconds before midnight so Miss Madison could ring in the new year for me, and then did not stop writing until I finished at 6:45AM.
> 
> This is extremely under-edited but I am tired so I hope you like it!
> 
> I am not religious, nor is my family (it's complicated) so there's a lot of using the lord's name in vain here. If that isn't your cup of tea, I totally respect that :) just warning you now.
> 
> Title is, of course, by the Queen herself, Miss Ariana Grande

Luke Patterson can’t find his drink. One minute, he’s setting it down to execute a truly legendary beer pong trick shot, and the next he’s being corralled out of the Carrie Wilson’s living room and through the glass doors to her pool. He vaguely remembers tossing his favourite orange flannel in Julie’s direction as he passes before cannonballing, fully clothed, into the water alongside Reggie. The furious splash accompanied by a rather enthusiastic war cry, followed by a short protest and a sudden yelp confirms the presence of Willie and Alex beside them. The crowd that’s gathered along the deck and the balcony overseeing the pool erupts in whoops and catcalls around them.

“Dude!” Reggie laughs, pulling himself up over the edge of the pool deck with all the grace of a wet noodle. The warm light spilling out of the house illuminates his face in the dim night. “If this is the way we’re ending the year, next year is going to be awesome!”

Luke climbs out of the pool, wringing the water out of his now sopping shirt. A slight breeze washes a chill over his flushed skin, but he’s too drunk to feel anything but refreshed. “We’re going to sign a record deal this year. I know it,” he crows. He turns to extend a hand to Alex, but he and his boyfriend are currently making out in the shallow end of the pool, much to the delight of the surrounding partygoers. Reggie seems to have noticed, too, because he points up at the balcony where Kayla and the other members of Dirty Candy have congregated. He winks at Luke and disappears quickly into the mass of bodies inside.

This leaves Luke with three problems. The first being his missing drink, the second being the quickly approaching realization that he has just jumped into a pool in the middle of the night in winter up on Beverly Hills and it is _fucking cold, god dammit_ , and the third and most important issue of the night: he has absolutely no idea where Julie is.

He wades his way into the house, squeezing through the circle of people that has congregated around the massive flat-screen displaying the west coast replay of the Times Square ball drop. There’s only a half hour until midnight, which means everyone is currently singing an off-key rendition of J-Lo’s “On the Floor”. Past the couch crowd is the mob of bodies currently screaming their heads off in support of what looks like a very aggressive second round of beer pong. When Nick, standing at the foot of the table with his letterman jacket draped over the shoulders of a flushed looking cheerleader (Luke is pretty sure she’s a year or two younger than them, but Nick isn’t nineteen quite yet so he’s not going to question it) catches sight of him, Luke is nearly dragged back into the centre of the crowd for a rematch by popular demand. Fighting his way to the other side, he shakes his head and grins good naturedly at the blonde. He makes it to the kitchen _mostly_ unscathed (he’s pretty sure one of those drunk cheerleaders just tried to grab his ass), where he _finally_ gets his hands on a fresh solo cup of coke zero and quite a generous shot of Captain Morgan.

Now that problem number one has been settled, he turns back to his mental list (although it’s a little hazy considering how much alcohol he has put into his body in the last few hours). Finding Julie is his next priority, so his makes his way slowly up the stairs in the direction he’s _pretty sure_ she disappeared to the last time he saw her. He hums along to the song blasting out of the sound system by the TV. He isn’t quite sure what it is or who’s singing it, but he’s willing to bet his rendition is spot-on.

***

Julie’s been pretending not to leave her drinks on random surfaces all night. It’s not that she’s opposed to drinking (she’s not above admitting that she’s fairly inebriated at the moment), but Flynn has made it a personal mission to make sure she gets wasted tonight and she’s just not that interested.

“Come on, Julie,” her best friend giggles as she hands her another cup. The first initial sniff has Julie cringing.

“Flynn, this is like 87 percent vodka,” she coughs.

“Yes!” Flynn pushes it back towards her insistently. “You look hot, okay, and if you don’t make out with someone at midnight tonight I am calling the fucking police because leaving a pretty girl by herself on New Years Eve has to be illegal somewhere.”

Julie looks down self consciously at her outfit. She’s wearing a cropped lavender wrap top and a pair of high waisted black utility shorts, both of which are awfully plain in comparison to Flynn’s lace-up over-the-knee leather boots and crimson slip dress. “Flynn, I’m not going to throw myself at some random guy I’ve never met.”

“They’re not a stranger if you ask for their name first,” Carrie comes strutting (and yes, strutting is the most appropriate term) over in her silver pumps to where they’ve gathered at the base of the stairs. She smooths out the edges of her blush bandage dress and takes a seat directly in Flynn’s lap, giving her girlfriend a quick kiss hello.

Julie smiles. Carrie and Flynn have come a long way from their high school hate-crushes. “Pending familiarity aside, I’m still not going to throw myself at anyone,” she states dryly.

“You know, if you went up to Nick at midnight I _guarantee_ you he would make the first move,” Flynn watches suspiciously as Julie takes a sip of her new drink, as if she might be secretly pouring it down her bra somehow.

 _Jesus, Flynn._ Her entire sinus system burns. She might as well be drinking straight from the bottle. Carrie pats her back sympathetically as she coughs, grabbing her cup and diluting the vodka concoction with some of her own. “It’s mostly coke,” she says when she sees her raised eyebrows.

She passes the cup back and Julie takes another cautious sip. “Better,” she nods gratefully at Carrie’s small smile. “Thanks.”

“She’s not wrong about Nick, you know,” Carrie nods in the direction of the beer pong table, where most of the party has gathered. They can hear some of the younger cheerleaders shrieking their encouragement, chanting the quarterback’s name with increasing levels of enthusiasm (and decreasing levels of sobriety). “He’s been ready to serenade you under your bedroom window since tenth grade.”

Julie’s brow furrows puzzledly. “You guys didn’t break up until senior year.”

“I said what I said,” Carrie shrugs. Flynn kisses her on the cheek, rubbing her back in small circles until her girlfriend’s carefully measured indifference melts away to a soft smile. She turns back to Julie. “If you wanted to kiss Nick, you wouldn’t even have to ask.”

The sea of people at the beer pong table parts for a moment, giving the girls a clear view of what seems to be, judging by the gasps and shouting of the surrounding crowd, a wildly intense game.

At one end of the table is Nick, bare chested, his shirt slung around his neck like a sweat towel. His grey sweatpants hang low on his hips. Behind him are a gaggle of cheerleaders, a few of whom Julie recognizes as Carrie’s legacy trainees from back in the day. Nick has traded in his shaggy Bieber-cut for a swept up fade that is no doubt the basis for the occasional giggles emitting from the surrounding audience.

At the other end of the table is Luke, in his Rock n’ Roll Heavyweights t-shirt (which of course, he’s cut the sleeves off of) and dark slim-cut jeans, his orange flannel tied haphazardly around his waist. Behind him are Reggie and Alex, along with Alex’s now long-term boyfriend, Willie, and a crowd of Julie and the Phantoms supporters that they’ve accumulated over the course the last few years. Luke’s skin is covered in a thin sheen of sweat and his damp hair is sticking to his forehead.

“Sweet Jesus,” Carrie mutters beside her. “Did Luke always have that vein in his bicep?” Julie can only nod wordlessly. Her throat is dry. She can’t tear her eyes away from the drenched hair at the nape of his neck, acutely aware of the way his muscle tee clings to the spot between his shoulder blades.

Flynn clears her throat none too quietly, startling the other girls out of their trances. Carrie coughs, leaning down to give Flynn a kiss and chucking nervously. “Boys, am I right?”

“Yeah,” Julie echoes breathlessly.

“No,” Flynn deadpans, but the twitch in her lips gives her away. “Although maybe I wouldn’t have to keep pushing Julie to make out with Nick if she would just get her shit together and tell Luke she’s in love with him.”

“I told you why I’m not going to,” Julie protests, taking a large swig of from her cup to quench her parched throat. It’s honestly pretty good, now that it’s not just straight alcohol. She takes another sip. “We’re in a band together. We spend all of our time practicing because we’re trying to get signed and if we didn’t work out it would ruin our careers. Not to mention, he’s my best friend and I’d hate to lose him.”

“ _I’m_ your best friend,” Flynn points accusingly at her. At this point, Flynn’s cup is nearly empty and her words are starting to slur together a little. “You’re just too chicken to tell him how you feel because you’re afraid he doesn’t want you back.”

“Look at him!” Julie flings out her arm towards the guys. Wow. Her drink is _super strong_. Drunk Julie still has impeccable timing, though, because they look over just in time to see Luke chucking the ball upwards with a wild swing. It bounces off the Wilson’s loft ceiling and comes whistling down, slamming directly into Nick’s only remaining cup. The crowd goes berserk, screaming Luke’s name (Julie vaguely hears someone chanting the chorus of “Now or Never” in the background) and hoisting him up into the air on Alex and Reggie’s shoulders. They let him down just as Reggie shouts, “Let’s go jump in the pool!” and the band is ushered in the direction of Carrie’s outdoor deck.

“Wait,” Luke yells as they pass the stairs, twisting in Wille’s grip to lean down to Julie’s level. The way he beams at her is enough to turn her stomach to mush. “Jules, did you see that?” His breath washes over her face. It smells like spiced rum and cinnamon.

“I did,” Julie laughs, shrieking as he slings his arms around her waist to give her a sweat-drenched hug. “You’re so sweaty,” she complains teasingly, but she wraps his arms around his neck anyways. He lets go after a quick moment, untying his flannel from his waist with some difficulty in the jostling crowd, and then pushes it into her hands with a serious expression.

“I need you to take care of this for me,” he tells her somberly. “It’s really important and you’re really important so you two go together.” Even in her vodka-induced state of exuberance, Julie is rendered speechless. Luke, of course, takes her lack of response to be some kind of agreement and kisses her quickly on the cheek before he is swept away in the mob.

Julie turns to Flynn, whose eyes are the size of dinner plates. An amused smile spreads slowly across Carrie’s pink cheeks. “What were we saying about Luke not wanting Julie?”

***

Julie isn’t in the hallway. Of that much, Luke is one hundred percent certain. He’s been leaning against the wall at the top of the stairs for the last five minutes because his legs feel like jelly, and Julie isn’t anywhere in sight. _If she’s not downstairs or on the balcony and she’s not in the hallway, she has to be in one of the rooms upstairs._ Even Drunk Luke has flawless deductive skills.

Pushing off the wall, he ambles slowly down the corridor, holding his arms out for balance _. It’s like he’s walking a tightrope_ , he giggles to himself. He heads straight for the guest room at the other end (mostly because it’s the one directly in his line of sight) and hopes she’s in there so he can sit down. And maybe cuddle? He thinks maybe they cuddled earlier but he can’t be sure. It would be nice. He’s always wanted to cuddle Julie, but he wasn’t sure if it was a good idea because he didn’t want to screw up the band.

“Today is the day for good ideas, Luke Patterson,” he tells himself, and he doesn’t know if it’s a product of manifestation (or whatever it is that Alex and Carrie are always going on about) or if he’s just speaking super loudly, but he hears Julie’s voice echoing in his ears like wind chimes.

“Luke?” So she isn’t in the end room. Dammit. Julie emerges from one of the rooms to his left, wearing those _fucking shorts_ he hasn’t been able to keep his eyes off of since she showed up at the party.

“Hey Jules,” he can feel the grin splitting his face (he wonders briefly if maybe he’s being too obvious). “I jumped in the pool.”

“I can see that,” Julie’s eyes are twinkling in amusement. “You’re dripping all over the rug, though. Come here,” and she grabs him by the wrist and steers him into the room she came out of.

It turns out that The Room to The Left of The Room at The End is none other than Carrie Wilson’s guest bathroom. Or, what Luke assumes to be her guest bathroom, because he’s seen that girl’s Instagram stories and he’s pretty sure her mirror selfies are taken in a bathroom with pink tiles on the floor.

Again. Flawless deductive skills.

Julie deposits him against the counter, closing the door behind them to block out the din of the party below. She trades the solo cup in his hand for a large glass of water from the tap and commands him to chug while she rummages through the linen closet on the far wall. Carrie Wilson’s guest bathroom is _huge_.

He must’ve said that last bit out loud, because Julie bursts out in a fit of giggles. “Flynn and I used to bet on how long we could survive in here during an apocalypse,” she tells him, crossing back over to the counter with a stack of towels in her hands.

“And? Did you ever try?” Now that his co-ordination is a little better, he reaches for the neck of his still-soaked shirt and pulls it over his head, wringing out the pool water in the sink.

He thinks he hears Julie swearing faintly behind him, but by the time he glances at her in the mirror, she’s carefully unfolding a towel off of the top of the stack. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she was avoiding eye contact.

“Well there hasn’t been an apocalypse yet, but when I find out you’ll be the first person I call,” she says, just a beat too late. She passes the towel to Luke, who uses it to soak up most of the water from his jeans. Even Drunk Luke has the sense not to take off his pants in front of her.

He knows he must’ve made her feel awkward, not to mention he feels kind of guilty that she has to take care of his messy ass, so he gives her his most charming grin. “I’ll be the first person you’ll _call?_ I’m your apocalypse buddy, Jules. I’ll find out for myself.”

It works, because she seems to be back to her sardonic self. “When did you become my apocalypse buddy?” She scoffs.

“When I became your best friend, _duh_.”

“Flynn’s my best friend,” she reminds him gently, grabbing a dry towel and gesturing for him to bend down. He complies easily, and she steps right up to him, draping the towel over his head and tousling gently with both hands. It’s an act he’s seen her do a hundred times for Carlos, when he broke his wrist in a dirt bike stunt. She told him her mom always said you could catch a cold by walking around with wet hair. He takes a deep breath as she continues her ministrations, inhaling the familiar scent of peaches and something vaguely floral.

“So what am I, then?” The water may have sobered him up a bit, but there’s still enough liquid courage in his veins to send the question tumbling thoughtlessly from his lips. She shifts the towel towards the nape of his neck, giving him a clear view of her bare legs not two inches from his face, and then it’s his turn to breathe out a string of unintelligible curses.

“You’re Luke,” she says lightly, her tone pitched into that slightly higher register that confirms she isn’t entirely sober herself, but there’s a careful edge to the way she speaks that tells him to keep prodding.

“And who is Luke?” He lifts his head so he can get a glimpse of her face—and then regrets it immediately, because she’s still messing with his hair (which he’s pretty sure is dry by now) and he’s at eye level with the gentle swell of her breast and _dear god it’s sweltering in this room_. He debates for a split second whether it’s more appropriate to stare at your something-close-to-a-best-friend’s legs or her chest when you’re equally turned on by both, and then elects to just clamp his eyes shut until they’re no longer in a position where he might be tempted to try something. Even Drunk Luke knows that Julie is far too important to be a drunken one night stand.

He feels the rush of cool air as she lifts the towel from his head, and then her fingers have settled under the curve of his jaw and he is being drawn upwards to his full height. His eyes flutter open just in time to see her mouth parted in a soft “o”, her gaze fixed decidedly on his chest and then dragging upwards to his face before she snaps her mouth shut and looks away, blushing.

The brief glimpse of clear wanting in her eyes makes him feel brave. He steps forward, closing in on the last few inches between them. He lets his fingers graze her waist, relishing in the swell of her ribcage as she inhales sharply, her eyes snapping quickly to his. He lowers his head until the tip of his nose is just barely brushing hers, murmuring quietly, “You didn’t answer my question.”

He can feel the trembling in her hands as she rests them faintly on his upper arms. He doesn’t move, giving her the option to turn her cheek or step away if this isn’t what she wants (and hasn’t it been the crux of his sleepless nights all these years, the thought the she might never want him the way he’s always ached for her). “I guess you will have to be my apocalypse buddy,” is her breathless answer.

“Why?” His tone is edging on desperate, but Luke can’t bring himself to care. He can smell the sugar on her breath as she exhales shakily, and then she does turn her face (and he braces himself for the loss of her, because what is he going to do when the only person that makes him feel like there is helium running through his veins leaves him behind because he couldn’t keep up this coward’s disguise), but only so his nose can brush her cheek. Her whisper feels like a declaration that bounces off the porcelain bathtub, ringing against every tile.

“Because I don’t think I could live without you.”

And then her lips are on his and he is falling, falling into her and there is nothing he can do to stop it. Her mouth parts under his tongue, and he takes his time, tasting her in full strokes. Her hands slide up his shoulders, clutching at the back of his neck and winding into his hair. He grips her waist, drawing her roughly against him and spinning around to press her against the counter, and then her legs are parting and he is pressing himself against her, relishing in the soft moans that tumble from her lips. He drags one hand along the curve of her spine, the other reaching down to grab a handful of her ass (and if he were a religious man, he’d say a prayer to whatever deity has led his fate to this moment), hoisting her up onto the flat surface and grinding against the inside of her thigh. She bites his lip and the sound that tears from his chest is almost animalistic. His left hand, still traveling upwards, winds itself into her hair, tugging her head backwards so he can drag open mouthed kisses along the column of her throat. She gasps when he finds a sensitive spot along her pulse, wrapping her legs around his backside to grind back against him harshly, and it’s all he can do not to undress her and ravish her right there. He sinks his teeth into the spot instead, working a mark into her skin until she _sounds_ like he _feels_ , dizzy with pleasure and adrenaline and utterly unbalanced in everything they know about the universe.

From somewhere far away, the can hear the muffled chorus of cheering voices and fireworks popping.

The tempo of their union changes, eventually. Their frantic pace morphs into something slower, more intimate. He takes his time, holding her tightly to him, swaying slightly as if to some inaudible slow song. Her hands are cupped against either side of his jaw, her thumb occasionally stroking his cheek or reaching to brush his hair from his face. Eventually she pulls away, resting her cheek in the curve of his shoulder, and he is content to fold her against his racing heart, to bury his nose in her hair and feel the soft vibrations of her humming rumble through his chest.

“I owe Carrie ten dollars,” she says, and then they are both giggling hysterically, wrapped up in the euphoria of each other, hiding in Carrie Wilson’s guest bathroom on New Year’s Eve (New Year’s Day, Luke reminds her with a soft smile) like they are the only two people in the world.

When they finally make their way downstairs to join the rest of the party, Julie settles herself in Luke’s lap on the couch without a second thought. He kisses her shoulder as she grudgingly hands a smirking Carrie and Flynn their prize money (and when she isn’t looking, hands Reggie and Alex ten bucks each to pretend they don’t notice the purpling bruise on her neck).

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think? Please leave me a comment letting me know! They give me motivation to write because I am a sucker that relies on validation lmao.
> 
> I wish you and your loved ones a very happy new year! May 2021 bring you prosperity, growth, and joy. <3
> 
> EDIT** I forgot to mention that the beer pong trick shot that Luke does is something that my best friend actually pulled off one time a few years back, albeit with a much lower basement ceiling. It was one of the most epic moments of our college party days lmao.


End file.
